


Is It Too Late For Us?

by OneMoreNight1996



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Separation, travelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25429651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneMoreNight1996/pseuds/OneMoreNight1996
Summary: Who's Gendry? Someone who didn't care enough to stay.Who's Arya? Someone who didn't care enough to stop me from walking away.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 1
Kudos: 53





	Is It Too Late For Us?

**Author's Note:**

> Re-posting because I accidentally deleted it.

After she had run away from the Brotherhood in a fit of anger and gotten caught by the Hound, she had expected to be taken straight back to King's Landing and to Cersei but instead he'd taken her in the direction of the Twins. He told her that her mother and brother would be there and she'd let herself get her hopes up. She should have known better. If she had known what she would see when they reached the Twins she would have forced the Hound to turn his horse around and take her somewhere else, anywhere else, so she didn't have to see her brother's body treated in such a disrespectful and disgusting way.

The image of his body with Grey Wind's head attached being paraded around was burned into the back of her eyelids, waiting there to be seen every time she closed her eyes and making her wonder what had become of her mother. She didn't even have enough energy left to hope her mother had gotten out, she knew she hadn't. No one could have survived the massacre. For the first few days of travelling, thoughts of what had happened to her mother and brother were enough to fuel her rage and keep her going as she recited her list like a mantra until she fell asleep each night. It was never enough to keep the nightmares at bay.

After a while though, the rage faded. It wasn't gone, she could still feel it burning low in her gut waiting for the right moment to erupt, but it wasn't so all consuming anymore. It was almost worse with it gone because it gave her brain time to focus on the grief she felt at the loss of her family rather than the anger of how she had lost them. From this grief, a new list was born, one she found herself repeating more than the other until it was the only one she spoke out loud at night. It was a list of everyone she had lost.

_Father. Mother. Robb. Bran. Rickon. Nymeria._

Even Jon and Sansa were on her list sometimes as they were both so far away and unreachable that it felt like she'd lost them too. There were also nights that the image of a boy with dark hair and eyes as blue as she imagined the sapphire sea to be and words came to her unbidden.

_You wouldn't be my family. You'd be m'lady_.

She felt anger and betrayal at the words. He was going to leave her, just like everyone else, except he was making the choice to do so on his own. Still, the pang deep in her chest when she thought of it spoke to a deeper hurt that she didn't really want to think about. He was going to leave, she constantly reminded herself of this, but she knew that it didn't really matter anymore. He'd been taken away from her before she was ready, taken by someone that she knew in her heart was intent on harming him, and she hadn't done anything to stop them. And so, one more name was added to her list.

_Gendry._

She tried to pretend that the tears in her eyes had nothing to do with the name or what she knew, even now, that he meant to her.

*

After killing the man who called himself Rorge, she and the Hound had journeyed a ways away from the place where they left the bodies before stopping to make camp for a time. She got the fire started quickly enough, sticking enough dry pieces of stick in to get a good blaze, before she sat on a rock a bit away from the Hound. Their horses were grazing a few yards away from them and the Hound was attempting to stitch the bite mark on his shoulder. She would have offered to help but she still wasn't sure she cared. She ignored the small voice in her head that told her that was a lie.

When she finally attempted to help him, telling him that pressing something hot - like the end of the stick she was using to poke the fire - against it would stop the bleeding, he refused. No fire. She really should have expected it, she knew he was afraid of fire, but that didn't stop her from thinking he was stupid for not listening to her. She didn't expect it when he began speaking, telling her the story of his scars, though she already knew.

The sadness in his voice struck her. She'd thought that the man didn't care for much, that he was just a surly person who didn't care about anything but his own anger, but the sadness she heard told her that wasn't the case. He, in some ways, was still that little boy wondering why his older brother would treat him in such a way, who was crying out for help. It was this, more than anything, that had her offering to help hit clean and sew his wound. She could at least do that.

It was quiet between them as she worked, pouring water over the wound and wiping at it gently with a piece of cloth until it was clean before threading the needle and sewing his skin. He was still through the whole thing regardless of their lack of anything to numb the pain even slightly, they didn't even have ale for him to drink himself silly. When she was done, she observed her work for a moment before deeming it acceptable. It wasn't the neatest or the most pretty but it would do.

It was only when she had moved back to the rock she'd been perched on before that she noticed his eyes still on her and as much as she tried to ignore it, she found that she couldn't. When she gave him a look, he cleared his throat to speak and the words were not what she expected.

"Who's Gendry?" He asked quietly. The atmosphere created between them by his earlier story still lingered and she knew that was the only reason that he asked the question. It was also the reason that she actually answered.

"Someone who didn't care enough to stay." She replied. She knew it wasn't quite fair, he hadn't chosen to be carted away, but he had made the choice to leave her before that.

"I caught you when you were running away from the Brotherhood." He sad with a raised eyebrow. "Seems to me that you're the one who was leaving."

"He was going to leave me." She protested.

"So you decided to leave him first, is that it?" He asked. "It hurts less if you're not the one being left behind?"

"It's more complicated than that." She argued. Technically, she'd fled the Brotherhood after Gendry was already gone, after she'd already been the one left behind, but she didn't feel like explaining it all to the Hound. Thinking about it at all hurt too much, she didn't think talking about it would be much better.

"Love usually is." He said and she snapped back to attention.

"I don't love him!" She exclaimed. _Yes you do_ , the voice in her head whispered.

"Protest all you want, wolf girl." He sighed. "But it's in your eyes when you speak about him. There's no hiding that, not from anyone who cares to look."

She refused to honor him with a response and instead turned her back on him to stare out over the mountains. He didn't try to engage her in conversation any further, seeming to accept her abrupt silence easily as he moved to lay next to the fire, and she did her best not to even acknowledge him. She hated that he had brought up thoughts she'd tried so hard to ignore.

She knew, long before he'd said it, that the feelings she had toward Gendry were nothing like the feelings she had toward her brothers, which is what she'd tried to tell herself for the longest time, but something far different. What she felt for him was something like what a woman felt for a man she'd maybe like to marry, which she told herself was stupid. She knew he'd seen her as nothing but a little girl and a friend but she'd seen him in a much different light. She wished she could forget all about that, or better yet, never have felt it at all but she knew that it didn't work that way.

She cared about him, which had only made it hurt worse when he'd rejected her in that cave. He hadn't heard the words behind what she said, the words she'd really wanted to say but hadn't. She wondered if it would have made a difference. Probably not. Gendry was too honorable to ever allow anything that happen between them, even if she had been older, she knew that. He was staunch in his defense of propriety and more stubborn than a bull. Still, a small part of her wished she had said it, wished that she had told him, because now she'd never get the chance. _He was probably dead_.

Somehow, that thought hurt her worse than anything else.

* * *

When he was carted away from the Brotherhood, from her, all he could see was her eyes swimming with sadness and anger. At him, at the Red Woman, at the Brotherhood, at the world, he wasn't sure which, probably all of them. He hoped, somehow, that she'd be safe without him there to look out for her. The world was cruel to young girls, he knew, even ones who could fight for themselves. He hoped that the Brotherhood treated her better than they treated him.

He didn't fight when they put him onto a ship and when they sailed away from the shore, they finally untied his wrists and allowed him to roam the deck. He contemplated jumping over the side but he couldn't swim so it would do him no good anyway forcing him to stay. It was when they were passing through Blackwater Bay that the Red woman approached him and started asking questions he didn't want to answer before revealing his parentage. Robert Baratheon was his father. The thought knocked the air out of him for a moment as he stared up at the Red Keep, standing high above the city where he'd grown up. He allowed himself to wonder for just a moment about how his life might have been different if his father had acknowledged him but then he pushed it away. It didn't matter, everyone knew that Robert Baratheon had had many bastards, he obviously hadn't cared. It made no difference, he was still the bastard blacksmith from Flea Bottom no matter how much the woman beside him spoke of _King's Blood_.

When he met his uncle and they put him in a opulently decorated room, he was still wary but part of him wanted to believe that Stannis and the Red Woman had sought him out because he was one of the only people who shared Baratheon blood left in Westeros, wanted to believe that he would be treated kindly, that he'd be treated like family. After all, why else would she travel so far to find him. He really should have known better by now.

The Red Woman came to him again in that boiling room with the red curtains. She offered him food and wine. He didn't entirely trust her but he allowed himself to drink as she told him the story of being brought up as a slave, standing next to the fire alongside her, until she kissed him. He pushed the image of a grey eyed girl with betrayal on her face out of his head as he kissed her back. He'd never been with a woman before, he wasn't entirely sure what to do but he was certain that it wasn't supposed to involve being tied down while leeches were placed on his skin.

He begged her to stop, pulled on the restraints, but it did nothing. She didn't care. She didn't want him, not truly, just his blood. He felt wrong, violated, but no one paid him any mind as she took the leches from his skin and gave them to Stannis Baratheon. He heard the names the man spoke as he tossed them into the fire.

_Joffery Baratheon. Balon Greyjoy. Robb Stark._

It was the last name that made him struggle against the restraints even more. _Arya's brother._ Whatever was happening, whatever blood magic they were using, he knew it was intended to hurt. Her face came to him again, eyes filled with tears as they had been in the cave that night, and he found himself praying for the first time in his life to any god that would hear him. _Please don't let her lose anyone else, she doesn't deserve it._

He was thrown into a dungeon cell after they were done with him and he knew then. Stannis Baratheon didn't care that he was family, he only cared about his blood because he could use it, use him. The words came to him as he sat in the dark with the sound of the door clanging shut ringing in his ears.

_I can be your family._

He'd lost the only person who had ever truly been his family because of his own pride and stubborn nature. He knew what had forced him to say the words he did, to remind them both of their very different stations in life, it was because of the way he knew he felt about her. He'd looked at her and sometimes, without his control it seemed, his mind would conjure the image of kissing her. He wondered what it would be like to do it and he knew it was wrong, she was too young for any of that and she was a lady, but he'd never been able to help it. He'd known, even then, that he'd never be able to join her in Winterfell and watch her be married to someone else all while pretending that he was just her friend. It didn't matter now, he supposed.

The first time Ser Davos visited him he didn't want to even speak to the man, he'd had enough of the highborns on this godsforsaken island, but then he'd actually listened to what he said. He learned that the man was, in fact, not highborn and, more than that, was from the same shit hole that Gendry himself reigned from so in the next few visits he allowed himself to warm up to the man, if only slightly. They'd talk about Flea Bottom and the bowls of brown and the smell of shit from the city.

Still, he could never quite shake Arya. She came to him at night, in his dreams. He dreamed of all the horrible ways she could have been killed or hurt and many times, he'd wake up with sweat on his brow and a racing heart. He had to remind himself that she was a fighter and likely already back with her brother and mother where she would be protected. He reassured himself over and over that she was fine even if he could never quite make himself believe it.

It was on one of these nights, when he'd woken up from a horrible dream, that Ser Davos found him once again. He was leaning against the hard wall trying desperately to erase the images his mind had conjured up of his best friend. Ser Davos said nothing at first as he sat on the floor on the other side of the bars but eventually he seemed to find the words.

"Who's Arya?" He asked. Gendry's head whipped over to look at him, his eyes wide, there was no way the man could know. Ser Davos seemed to understand his panic because he spoke again. "I've heard you call out her name in your sleep. It lead me to believe that she was someone you care about."

"Who's Arya?" He laughed harshly ignoring that the sound was coated in the tears he refused to let fall in front of the other man. "She's someone who didn't care enough to stop me from walking away."

He knew he was being unfair, he's the one who chose to leave when she was begging him to stay, but it hurt that she hadn't fought more. She fought about everything, even if it was the most inconsequential thing, but she hadn't fought when he said no. She didn't fight, she just accepted it and walked away, and it had hurt because he'd been expecting a huge blowout. It had hurt even though he knew it wouldn't have changed anything, he'd already made his choice. The wrong choice.

"She was a lover I take it?" Ser Davos asked and Gendry sputtered.

"No!" He protested loudly before continuing in a quieter tone. "She was my friend, the only true friend I had."

"Why did you walk away then?" Ser Davos asked.

"Because....." He rubbed a hand over his face knowing that there was no way he could explain it without revealing more about Arya and who she really was, which he wasn't going to do, so he blew out a long breath before continuing. "It's complicated."

"Ah." Ser Davos nodded. "I know all about that."

They were quiet for a time, during which Gendry had to focus on not seeing his nightmares on the back of his eyelids, before Ser Davos spoke again.

"You loved her." He said quietly. The words weren't a question but rather a statement. It was only because of the darkness in the cells and the undeniable knowledge that he'd probably be dead soon that made him say what he did next. Just to get it out there, in case he didn't get the chance to say them again.

"I still do." He admitted. "I probably always will, until my dying day. Which will probably be soon anyway."

"No." Ser Davos shook his head and stood from his spot in front of the cell.

Gendry watched as he made quick work of the lock and the door swung open, allowing him to stare at the man in utter shock for a long moment before he stood from the floor and followed after him. Ser Davos led him through a series of dark halls, which Gendry wasn't sure how he navigated as he only barely managed to keep himself from tripping over his own feet in the pitch blackness, until the came out onto the beach he'd been brought to when he'd first arrived.

There was a rowboat waiting, hidden slightly behind an outcropping of rocks, leading him to believe that this had been the plan all along. He climbed into the boat as Davos instructed him on what to do and where to go before looking at the older man seriously.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked as he began to drift away from the shore.

"Because it's right." Ser Davos answered, and Gendry found himself thinking that he was one of the most honorable men he'd ever met. "Maybe you can go find that girl of yours and apologize."

He was too far away to say anything back but that thought was what kept him going even when his arms ached so badly from rowing that he seriously considered just stopping and allowing himself to drift off to sea. He finally made it back to King's Landing after a fortnight of rowing and though he hated the city he'd been born in, he was so happy to see dry land that he almost didn't care.

The first thing he did after resting for a while was cut his hair, the goldcloaks would probably still kill him given a chance and it would make him less recognizable as a Baratheon bastard, the second place he went was a tavern. He didn't particularly want to drink but he knew the tavern was the best place to pick up gossip and rumors and he wanted to know if anyone had heard anything about the Brotherhood or Arya Stark. He almost wished he'd never gone in.

The Red Wedding was the biggest piece of gossip it seemed as it was on everyone's lips, including the Lannister soldiers that had made their way inside. He sat at a table in the back, as inconspicuous as he could get, and he listened to all of the bloody details. How they'd cut Catelyn Stark's throat to the bone and threw her body in the river, how a traitor had killed Robb Stark and then they'd sewed his direwolf's head onto his body and paraded it through the camp, how they'd slaughtered thousands of Northmen at a wedding, but the thing that had made him rush out of the tavern without looking back was the hushed rumor that wasn't shouted to the crowd. The rumor that the youngest Stark girl had been spotted at the wedding, though no one seemed to know what happened to her.

He stumbled against the back wall of the tavern, images flashing in his mind of Arya covered in blood and begging, images of her being held down while men leered at her, images of her sparkling grey eyes going dull as she died. The images rotated through his mind, over and over, until he was bent over and emptying his stomach onto the wall. He stumbled a bit away before his legs gave out entirely and he fell to his knees in anguish, the tears falling from his eyes as the hate began to burn in his chest, in the place that held his heart. _I failed her. It's my fault._

That was the day he vowed that he'd make the Lannister's pay for everything they'd done. He didn't know how, he didn't know when, but he knew the day would come when the Lannister's would see their reckoning and he planned to be there when it happened.

_I'm sorry._ He sent the apology up like a prayer, hoping that wherever she'd ended up, she'd heard it. _One day, I'll make them pay. I promise_.

* * *

It wasn't until years later that they saw each other again, at the end of the world, neither knowing that their destinies were always intertwined. It had been written before they were ever born.

When he saw her again, he felt like someone had hit him in the chest and knocked the air from his lungs. The feeling of seeing her and knowing that she was here, alive, was like nothing he'd ever known. He found himself wondering if he'd ever be able to take a full breath again but somehow, he didn't care if the answer was yes or no. All that mattered was that she was here. He swore to himself, in that first moment after seeing her, that he'd never walk away from her again.

When she saw him again, she felt like a part of her that had been missing had come back to her. She acted cool and collected, thanking her training for it, but inside she was remembering everything she used to feel for the man who stood before her now. The biggest revelation of it all was realizing that she still felt all of it, that it hadn't changed despite the fact that everything else had. Seeing him again was like reconnecting with the person she used to be and she found that she didn't hate it. She wanted to hold onto it, hold onto him, for as long as she could. Possibly forever, if he'd allow her. Somehow, she knew he would.


End file.
